


Mama, I Want To Be A Flower

by guccithighs



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 18:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10996179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccithighs/pseuds/guccithighs
Summary: “Cherub boy Styles, always getting into my garden beds! What is with you lately?” Harry is in love with his mother's gardens as a child, and grows up falling deeper and deeper into their roots.





	Mama, I Want To Be A Flower

That’s where it all started. Harry was three, sitting among his mother’s English garden that she worked so hard on each year; hours and hours on end, while little harry played in the fields near by, watching, this was his first year that he was going to help his mother prepare the garden for the upcoming Spring and Summer seasons. If you wanted a great garden, you had to start early, with the ground still frozen, wind still whipping at your exposed flesh; that’s just the way it went.

Normally, Harry was very cooperative little boy, his mother’s words to him were golden and he would never dare to go against her. Not that she was anything other than the sweetest to her bubbly little cherub, but still, usually he listened the first time there was a demand made. Like, “Harry, please get out of the flower bed, please, Mummy needs to work at the dirt, it’s frozen still.” He’d get out, apologize, his green hues huge and nearly in tears for upsetting his Mum.  
But this particular day was different for him; maybe he woke on the wrong side of the bed? Maybe his duvet didn’t cling to his small body enough during the night, keeping up with the wind drifts and cold streaks when the heater wasn’t on?

Whatever the reason, he just plain wasn’t listening, out of character for this little Mummy’s boy. That’s when those words left his mouth, his first full sentence, his first words; seven. Seven little words orchestrated into a little sentence. Perfectly so, that it took her by surprise, dropping the marigolds straight to the ground, a gasp leaving her mouth.

❝ _Mama, I want to be a flower._ ❞ Harry’s little baby voice filled the brisk ending of winter’s air, warming his mother’s heart to the core. This is why he hadn’t gotten out of the bed; he enjoyed the flower just as much as her, and for that she couldn’t be rude, couldn’t force him out, but she needed him out. The Marigolds have to go in at a certain ground temperature, otherwise they don’t grow.

“Harry! Sweet little cherub, you said your first words!” She screamed with glee, clapping her hands to show her excitement, hoping that her claps and reaction would be enough to help him out of the flower bed, not that she was faking her actions; she wasn’t. She was full on excited that he finally spoke, not one, not two, but seven words in a full sentence!

“Mummy needs you to get out the bed, you know how the flower seasons goes, baby boy.” She spoke in a soft tone, a tone she always used with Harry no matter the circumstance. One look at his chubby cheeks, chestnut curls, and there was no way you could be anything but sweet to him. That cherub.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

“But… mum, in order to be a flower I need to stay. In here. Bury me in the dirt. Let me grow.” He would protest for years on end after that first one, always the same words, always the same sentence. Always the same battle. Anne would be lying if she said she hadn’t grown tired of her baby’s constant struggles to get out of the flower bed for years to follow.

Yet still; she spoke with him in the sweetest tone, like she always has, he would always be that chubby faced little green eyed boy. No way she could be mad at him. So instead, she decided she’d give up her fights after a few years, letting him lay in one side while she worked the other, building flowers in the ground around her son’s fast growing body. Not much the toddler he was now that he was ten. Still, the flowers went in. Between his legs, arms, above his head, by his fingers, toes, and everywhere between and where his body was not laying.

So when the flowers grew in, his little body print would be forever stuck in her garden for the seasons. She didn’t fix the missing pieces, her son wanted to be apart of the garden too much, too bad, and she couldn’t hurt his fragile heart by filling in the holes when he wasn’t looking. She liked Harry happy, and if “being a flower” this way kept him so, she would do it. For him. Always for him. Her little cherub.

Years passed, the same routine of ’ ❝ _Mama, I want to be a flower._ ❞ ’ continued, and his mummy always assumed he grow out of that phase. But he was nearing sixteen, wasn’t making many friends, or girl friends in particular either, but Harry didn’t seem to have a problem with that. He just wanted to be a flower. That’s it. And flowers didn’t have friends, or girlfriends, or boyfriends. They had their other flowers, baby’s breath, and marigolds, and bleeding hearts, and sun flowers; no one at school or the play ground were any of those, so he paid no mind.

His mum started to get a tad concerned for him when he was nearing out of teenage years, and still was set on laying in her flower bed, with the flowers around him. Once, he took interest in a girl, and he tried to make her a flower as well. She played along at first, thinking it was a joke, letting Harry shower her with flower gifts, flower crowns, rings, bracelets, but after a few months and he didn’t stop, and wanted to be called by the names of flowers, as well as call her by some; she left. Couldn’t handle it anymore.

That was okay for Anne, she would never grow tired of him and his fixation on flowers; she only worried for him. For his social life, worried for his bullying, his non interest in anything other than flowers. She had him evaluated for Autism, learning disabilities, everything in the book, and he always came out strong, out shining the other’s, because there was nothing wrong with him. He was just a special boy. A special cherub, she gave up the fight, and let him live in the yard with the flowers.

Harry was most happy when he turned twenty, his mum let him build a tiny shed outside, in the middle of all the gardens, and flowers, and beds, for him to live in. To be closer to his “family” and his “flower friends”, anything for Harry, and everything for her little cherub. Even built in electricity, heating, to keep him warm so he wouldn’t freeze, not that Harry seemed to pay a bit of mind to; Flower’s didn’t have to have electricity or heating, why should he? Alas, though, he didn’t want to freeze to death, so let his mum take away with what she does best.

Twenty-one, Twenty-two, nearly Twenty-three now, and he still lives in that shed, still obsessed with the flowers, and the beds of gardens, and still wants to be a flower. Anne gave up caring if he was “strange” to her neighbors and friends, years ago, she was just happy that her little cherub was happy. That’s all that matters. Happy Cherub Harry.

Anne realized that she had not yet taught Harry to drive, just in case one day something were to happen to her, he still needed to get around, even if all he did was leave to go visit flower shops, and historic gardens, he needed to learn. So she woke him early one morning, in the winter, before the gardens had been set, which Harry pretty much has taken over by now, only letting Anne supervise, and help when needed. Saying it was because she was growing old bones, and he wanted to help; but she knew the real reason, and she was okay with that. He loved the flowers more than she did, why not keep her little cherub happy?

“Harry, honey, hands on the wheels, check all mirrors, and keep your eyes on the road.” She had to keep reminding him, his mind just wasn’t in the right place this morning, and maybe they should just head back home, try another day. It had begun to snow, and suddenly Harry’s mum nicked herself in the arm for trying to get him to drive in such weather. But still, carried on, he needed some experience. What better than to give it a go in the winter?

❝ _Mama, I want to be a flower._ ❞ He spoke, the only words he continued to speak for the remainder of the drive, to the store, that’s it. They were only supposed to go to the shops, grab some food for dinner that night, and head home. Be out ten minutes tops, and that’d be enough Harry would have been able to handle anyway, since he was so distracted.

❝ _Mama, I want to be a flower._ ❞ He repeated, his hands slipping from the wheels as he hit a patch of ice, his mother trying her hardest to calm her nerves. “Harry! Pull over! Hands on the wheel, let me take over!” But he didn’t seem to hear her. Didn’t seem to hear her pleas as the car swerved, curved, and hit another car, rolling gently over onto it’s side, smashed about roughly.

❝ _Mama, I want to be a flower._ ❞ Harry didn’t even seem scared, didn’t even cry, didn’t even have a worry as his body shut down, from the force, the impact, the bleeding hole in his head. His mum’s tears and screams could be heard for miles, upon miles, and almost instantly, help was there. But not soon enough for her little cherub. Her boy.

❝ _Mama, I want to be a flower._ ❞ Were his last words. His eyes staring at his mum, losing sight, flower tucked into his fist, slowly losing the grip as his life drained out of his body. Gone. In the void.

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The funeral was packed, a simple one in their yard. Relatives, “friends” from school, neighbors who had picked on him, all had their head low that day, sullen. 

“In memory of the little flower boy.” Was carved into his grave, above his lifeless body, which was buried into the flower bed. Harry lay in peace, finally, one with the flowers that he cared so much for. Anne let out tears, kissed the ground, no hard feelings at herself or her boy. He just wanted to be a flower. That’s it. “You’re a flower now, Harry, my cherub. Lay in peace among your true family, I love you.” She spoke down into the ground, where she swore she could hear his little boy voice say;

❝ _Mama, I want to be a flower._ ❞ You are, baby boy, you are. I hope you’re finally happy.


End file.
